


Off the Books

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Blood, Drinking, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Drama, Rough Sex, Undercover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-04-07 10:14:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14078664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: Steve Rogers couldn’t cut it in the New York police department, so he turned to the family business. In this case, his Uncle Tony’s business - drugs, guns, prostitution, and illegal gambling. But does he have what it takes to work in one of the East Coast’s most frightening crime syndicates?





	1. An Army of One

 

“That’s enough, Brock,” Steve snapped, grabbing Rumlow’s elbow, stopping him from landing another blow to Hodge’s face. His knuckles were dripping blood, though Steve wasn’t sure if it was Gilmore’s or Brock’s. “I think he gets the point.”

Rumlow shot him a dirty look, but he backed off, scowling. “Where’s the money you owe us, Gil?” Brock growled. “Stark’s done waiting.”

Hodge chuckled, shook his head, and struggled to his feet, his arm wrapped around his midsection. “I ain’t got it,” he muttered. “He can send his goon squad of losers after me all day, but that ain’t gonna make that money appear. So, fuck off.”

This time, it was Bucky that stepped forward and landed a blow to Hodge’s chin, an uppercut that sent him reeling backwards, falling to his ass again. Bucky stood over him, grabbed the lapels of his shirt in one hand and dragged the man close, so close Steve was pretty sure that Hodge could see himself reflected in Bucky’s blue eyes. He stuck his finger in Hodge’s face.

“Get the money,” Bucky snarled, “or I’ll wipe that fucking smirk off of your face with my bare hands.” He let Hodge fall back to the ground, turned on his heel, and stalked off, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Rumlow followed him.

“Aren’t you a cop, Rogers?” Hodge said, sitting up and putting his arms on his knees. He spit a mouthful of blood on the ground between his legs. “How’d you end up here? Beating the shit out of people?”

Steve knelt beside the man, grinning. “I  _ was _  a cop, Gil. Was. But, that was a long time ago. Now I work for my uncle. Pays better.” He patted Hodge on the back and rose to his feet. “Have the money by tomorrow or I’ll let Bucky loose.”

* * *

“You gonna explain to Stark that we didn’t get his money?” Rumlow hissed. “Cuz that’s not a discussion I care to have with New York’s biggest asshole.” He downed his whiskey and slammed his glass back on the table.

“Watch it, Brock,” Bucky murmured. “That’s Steve’s uncle you’re bad mouthin’ right now.”

“Not his uncle by blood,” Rumlow pointed out. “Uncle Tony ain’t got no family. ‘Cept that pretty redhead he calls his girlfriend and good ole Steve-O here.” He laughed, his shoulders shaking.

“What’s so funny?” Bucky muttered.

“Nothin’ much,” Rumlow smirked. “Just wondering how Uncle Tony felt when good ole Steve-O decided to join the police force. Must’ve broke his heart to know that the boy he raised was gonna be a cop. Bet he was thrilled when you washed out after a couple of years?”

“That’s enough, Brock,” Bucky threatened.

“It’s alright, Buck,” Steve chuckled. “He’s just trying to rile me up. Which isn’t gonna work. Take a walk, Rumlow. I’m done listening to your shit.”

Brock shoved his seat backward, shot both Bucky and Steve a dirty look, then he headed for the bar where he immediately started chatting up one of the waitresses.

“Asshole,” Bucky muttered.

“Yeah, but he’s not wrong,” Steve shrugged. “I washed out of the police force, Tony was pissed when I joined, thrilled when I left.”

“Steve -”

“I’m fine, Buck. I don’t give a shit what Rumlow says or what he thinks of me. He’s just pissed cuz he was Uncle Tony’s number one enforcer until I came back.” Steve shrugged. “He takes it out on me.”

“Takes it out on you because your uncle trusts you? Because you’re good at your job?”

“Don’t call it a job, Buck,” Steve sighed. “I’m a fucking mobster. I do my uncle’s bidding, no questions asked. It fucking sucks, but the money is good.” He raised his glass, getting the attention of one of the waitresses. She smiled and nodded, hurrying behind the bar. A few seconds later, she appeared with a bottle of whiskey and filled Steve’s glass, then set the bottle down on the table.

Steve wrapped an arm around her thighs, tugging her close. She leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips, her hand cupping his cheek.

“Hey, Y/N,” Bucky grinned.

“Hey, Bucky,” the waitress said. “Nat’s in the back.”

“Tell her I said hi,” he said.

“That’s not gonna be good enough for her, Buck,” Y/N laughed. “But, I’ll tell her.” She kissed the top of Steve’s head before sashaying away.

“Some of the other perks aren’t so bad,” Bucky noted, nodding his head in Y/N’s direction.

“You are right about that,” Steve laughed.

“Steven!”

He swung around in his chair to see his uncle, Tony Stark, headed his way, his longtime girlfriend, Pepper Potts, on his arm. Not that Tony was really his uncle, but he’d been around his whole life, friends with his parents, taking Steve in when his mother died a couple of years after his father. He’d always been Uncle Tony. The man had raised him, supported him, paid for college, and took care of him. For awhile anyway.

They’d had a falling out when Steve had joined the police force; it threw a monkey wrench in his operations to have a family member working as one of New York’s finest and he’d made it very clear that Steve was no longer considered family. Except when he’d been out on his ass with nowhere to go, he’d gone to Tony and Tony had taken him in, no questions asked. Three months after that he was working for his uncle, and now, two years later, he was one of Tony’s biggest earners.

“Uncle Tony!” He rose from his chair and let his uncle pull him into a hug. He kissed Pepper’s cheek and squeezed her hand. She patted his cheek, then excused herself.

Steve gestured to the table where he and Bucky were sitting. Tony took a seat and exchanged a few words with Bucky before leaning back, arms behind his head, one ankle propped on his knee.

“Where’s my money, boys?” he asked.

“Hodge didn’t have it,” Steve said.

Tony shot a look at Bucky, who shrugged and nodded. “So?”

“He’ll have it tomorrow.” Steve downed his glass of whiskey. “If he doesn’t -”

“He and I will have a chat,” Bucky finished.

“Brock seems to think you were too easy on him,” Tony said, glancing at Rumlow who was still at the bar.

“Brock is an asshole,” Steve snapped. “I know what I’m doing.”

“You’re right, you do,” Tony nodded, pushing away from the table. “Keep me posted.” He disappeared through one of the back doors of the club.

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. “Fucking Brock,” he muttered.

“Don’t let him bother you,” Bucky said. “He just wants your job.”

“If only he knew the shit I have to put up with,” Steve shook his head. “He might change his mind.”

* * *

Steve stubbed out the cigarette and held out his hand. Y/N dropped the towel covering her and crawled into the bed beside him, right up against his side, her head on his chest.

“You okay, baby?” she asked.

“Fine,” he mumbled.

“Doesn’t sound like you’re fine,” she said.

“I’m only fine when I’m with you,” he replied. “You’re the only person I’m okay with, Y/N. You see me. See the real me. You see my nightmare with me.”

Y/N threw her leg over him, straddling him, her hands on his chest. She caught his lips in hers, kissing him, her naked breasts pressed to his chest, gripping his shoulders like he was her lifeline. “Whatever you need, Steve. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you. Me and my kid. You saved us. Let me do the same for you.”

Steve rolled her to her back, peppering her with kisses. What she didn’t know was that she had saved him, more than once. His life was hanging by a thread and that thread was her. He’d do anything to protect her and her son. Anything.

An hour later she was asleep beside him, the sheet pulled up to the top of her head, only her hair visible. He grabbed his cigarettes and the cell phone from the bottom drawer where he’d stuffed it under some socks, climbed out of bed, and made his way through the apartment to the patio overlooking the city. He sat down, lit the cigarette, and waited.

At midnight, the phone vibrated. He snatched it off the table and hit the button.

“Right on time, Sam,” he murmured.

“Hey, Steve,” Sam chuckled. “Long time, no talk.”

“I’ve been busy,” Steve replied, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“I can imagine,” the man on the phone muttered. “How is your uncle?”

“Deadly as ever,” Steve replied. “What’s up?”

“Straight to the point,” Sam said. “Got it. Internal Affairs wants to know how things are going. It’s been more than a month since your last report. They want an update ASAP.”

“When I have an update, you’ll get one,” Steve snapped. “Christ, Sam, what do they expect? Uncle Tony is tight lipped. I’m not gonna get anything out of him unless he really wants to give it up. And as long as they want him for the big stuff, for the guns, the drugs, the  _ murders _ , they’re gonna have to wait. I’m doing what I can.”

“You’ve been undercover for two years -”

“I know, Sam,” he interrupted. “And I’ll be undercover for two more if that’s what it takes. Tell the brass to fuck off and give me space. This shit takes time.”

“I know, I know,” Sam said. “I’m just the messenger, man. I’m your only contact, so I get to ask the tough questions. Sorry.”

“Look, Sam, I get it. IA and the brass are on your ass, you gotta give them something. But right now, I don’t have anything I’m willing to give up. So, you’ll wait. They’ll wait. When I’m ready, you’ll be the first to hear. Now, I gotta go. I’ll check in with you in a couple of weeks.” Steve disconnected the call and dropped the phone back to the table. He finished his cigarette and immediately lit another one. He had a feeling sleep would be a long time coming.


	2. Everybody Hurts

 

Steve stalked through the bar, Bucky on his heels, weaving through the tables, elbowing strippers, waitresses, and bodyguards out of his way until he reached the door to his uncle’s private room. He knocked before pushing it open, waited impatiently while Happy, his uncle’s bodyguard patted him down, then he crossed the room in a few short strides and tossed an envelope on the table in front of Tony. Several hundred dollars spilled out.

Tony scooped it up, a grin on his face. “Hodge?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded.

“He okay?” Tony inquired.

“He will be in eight to ten weeks,” Bucky shrugged, chuckling.

Brock was sitting on the other side of the room, on one of the velvet couches, his waitress or stripper of the week, Sharon, on his lap. Steve forced himself not to stare and did his best to keep his mouth shut. Brock was glowering at the two men, his drink clenched so tightly in his hand that his knuckles were white.

“What the fuck is this shit?” he growled. “You went without me?”

He stood up, Sharon sliding off of his lap and hitting the floor. She just giggled and dragged herself back onto the couch, stretching out spread eagle, eyes closed.

Steve turned on him, brow furrowed, face flushed. “We couldn’t find you, asshole,” he spat. “You weren’t answering your phone, and you weren’t in the bar. I’m not gonna sit around and wait for you to make an appearance.” He pointed at the half naked girl on the couch. “You were probably getting your dick wet.”

“Fuck you, Rogers,” Brock muttered.

“That’s enough,” Tony said quietly. “Brock, you can go. Take the girl with you.”

Brock’s mouth snapped shut, whatever he was about to say shut down by Tony’s simple command. That didn’t change the pinched look on his face or the stiff set of his shoulders as he dragged Sharon to her feet and escorted her from the room, throwing one last look over his shoulder before slamming the door closed.

“Sit down, boys,” Tony ordered.

Steve and Bucky obeyed, dropping into a couple of chairs across from the crime boss. Steve lit a cigarette, sliding the pack across the table to Bucky when he gestured for it. Tony poured them each a glass of whiskey, the good whiskey, top shelf.

“I have a job for you boys,” Tony explained. “I’ve been batting it around for a few weeks, debating whether or not to give it to you, but I’m confident you and James can handle this.”

Bucky grunted and rolled his eyes, irritated that Tony had used his given name. “What’s the job, Mr. Stark?” he asked.

“I’ve got a shipment coming in two weeks,” Tony replied. “I want you guys to handle it. You’ll do the money exchange, supervise the unloading and the delivery.”

“What’s the shipment?” Steve inquired.

Tony sighed, his fingers tapping on the table several times before he answered. “It’s a shipment of coke.”

“Cocaine?” Steve muttered. “I thought you were getting out of the drug trade?”

“I am,” his uncle said. “Just...not yet. These things take time. Now, are you going to do it or not? I can always ask Brock -”

“We’ll do it,” Steve interrupted. “Give us the details and we’ll take care of it.”

* * *

Steve slammed the apartment door hard enough to make the pictures on the wall rattle in their frames. He threw his keys and phone on the table, then he grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the shelf and spun off the lid, not caring when it skittered across the counter and fell on the floor. He took a long pull from the bottle, wincing at the burn as it ran down his throat. He carried the bottle with him to living room, kicked off his shoes, and stretched out on the couch. He used the remote to turn on the stereo and hit a couple of buttons, the soothing sound of jazz filling the room.

He closed his eyes and tried to relax, but it wasn’t happening. The meeting with Tony had exhausted him, made his skin crawl, and his head hurt. He’d finally, _finally_  gotten Tony to give him a job, a job that meant something, a job that might finally move this investigation along, and all he could think about was how he could get out of it.

Why did it have to be drugs? Of all the shit his uncle was involved in, why did he have to pull Steve in on this job of all jobs? This one hit too close to home.

_“Steve!” Nat skidded to a stop in front of his table, clutching at his arm, her long nails digging into his arm. “You need to come with me. Now!”_

_She dragged Steve to his feet, insisting he follow her as she took off at a dead run, weaving through the tables, not even slowing when she hit the swinging door that led to the back rooms. She stopped outside one of the dressing rooms and gestured for Steve to go in ahead of her. It was only when he passed her that he noticed the tears streaking her mascara and the way she was gnawing at her perfectly plumped red lips._

_“What the hell is going on?” he growled._

_“It’s Y/N, Steve,” Nat explained. “There’s something wrong with her. She-she took something and...and now she looks funny...and I don’t, um, Steve I don’t think she’s okay.”_

_“Where is she?” he demanded._

_“The bathroom,” Nat muttered._

_Steve burst through the door, nearly tripping over the body sprawled across the linoleum. He dropped to his knees and gathered her into his arms. She was pale, her lips blue, vomit staining the front of her uniform. She wasn’t breathing and she was cold to the touch._

_“What did she take?” he asked._

_“I-I don’t...don’t know, Steve.” The tears were rolling down Natasha’s face, black streaks that turned her pretty face ugly._

_“Nat!” He swung around to face her, scaring her enough that she stumbled back a step, falling against Bucky, who’d come in behind her. “What the fuck was it?”_

_“H-heroin,” she stammered. “I-I think sh-she was shooting up.”_

_Bucky pushed past Nat and kneeled beside Steve. He pressed two fingers to the side of Y/N’s neck for a couple of seconds, then he shook his head._

_“Call 9-1-1, now!” Steve yelled._

_“Steve, your uncle -”_

_“I don’t give a fuck, Nat, you pick up that goddamn phone and you call the fucking cops, the ambulance, whatever. Now!”_

_Nat spun around, disappearing back out the door, screaming for someone to call for help. Steve patted Y/N’s cheek, trying to rouse her, to get her to hear him. Frustrated, he laid her on the floor and tipped her head back, his training kicking in, his mouth sealing over hers, breathing for her. Bucky’s hands were on her chest, counting off the compressions, mumbling “come on, come on” as they fought to bring her back to life._

Steve jerked awake, the bottle of whiskey tipping over, spilling onto the floor. He sat up and grabbed it, setting it right as he scrubbed a hand over his face. Y/N’s near death from a heroin overdose was a permanent scar on his memory, one that would haunt him forever. Not only had he almost lost her, but because of the drug use, she’d lost custody of her son, Max, to her mother, something she’d never forgiven herself for. He wasn’t sure she ever would. He couldn’t forgive himself for allowing it to happen.

He finished the alcohol left in the bottle, silently bemoaning the fact that so much had been wasted, dropped the bottle to the table, and made his way back to the kitchen, wondering if that bourbon Bucky had bought him was still in the back of the cupboard.

A quiet tap at the front door interrupted his search for more alcohol. He peered through the peephole, one hand on the gun he kept in the table by the door, the other on the wall keeping him steady.

“Hey, babe,” he mumbled, propping open the door and leaving Y/N to follow him. He tipped a cigarette from the nearly empty pack on the kitchen table and lit it before he started digging through the cupboards looking for something to drink.

“You okay, Steve?” Y/N asked. “I didn’t see you at the club.” She stopped behind him, her arms around his waist, her forehead resting against his back.

“I was with Uncle Tony,” he replied. “Business.” He breathed a sigh of relief when his hand closed around the bottle of bourbon hidden behind the cereal boxes. He downed a couple of swallows, holding it loosely between two fingers.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Steve turned around, his arm sliding around her waist, tugging her close. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Nah, I’m good.”

Y/N eyed him suspiciously. “You sure?” she murmured.

Steve nodded. “Yeah, just...got a lot on my mind, you know? I need to learn to relax.”

Y/N smiled up at him, her fingers on his belt. “Let me help,” she whispered, loosening his buckle and opening his jeans, her hand sliding past the waistband of his boxer briefs, closing around his half hard shaft, stroking him slowly. His head fell back as she dropped to her knees, her mouth closing around him, her hands on his ass, pulling him closer.

Steve sighed, the fingers of his free hand tangling in her hair, all his worries temporarily falling away. He closed his eyes and let himself forget - forget about Tony, forget about the drugs, forget about the lies, forget about the lives he was going to shatter when this was over. For now, it was him and Y/N and nothing else.

For now.

 


	3. Mergers and Acquisitions

 

“Why’d you take so long to call me back?” Sam grumbled.

“I’ve got company, Sam,” Steve muttered. “Had to wait for her to go to sleep.”

“Girlfriend?”

“None of your business,” Steve replied. “What was so goddamn important that I had to call you back tonight?”

“Heard there’s a shipment coming in,” Sam said. “Boss wants to know when and where.”

“No,” Steve said.

“What do you mean, no? Your fucking job is to tell me -”

“My job is to bring down my uncle’s organization from the inside, gather enough evidence to close it down for good. Giving you the details on one shipment of drugs isn’t going to do that. If you move in too quick, we won’t get what we need.” Steve dumped the remaining contents of the bottle of bourbon down his throat. He was buzzing, but not enough.

“Steve -”

“You’ll hear from me when I have enough, when I can bring down my uncle for good,” Steve said and disconnected the call. He shoved himself to his feet and made his way back into the apartment. 

Y/N was stretched across his bed, dead asleep and completely naked. He contemplated waking her up for another round, but exhaustion seemed to be weighing down every inch of him, so he pushed her over, drawing an irritated grunt from her, and climbed in beside her. He pulled her against his chest and brushed a kiss against her shoulder. He was asleep in a matter of minutes.

* * *

“Bucky, relax,” Steve said. “Everything is going according to plan.”

Bucky bounced up and down on his toes, mumbling under his breath, his eyes darting back and forth. If Steve didn’t know better, he would’ve thought his friend was high. But, Bucky had been clean for almost three years, since he’d come home from active duty. There was no reason to believe that Bucky had started using again.

Headlights flashed, temporarily blinding him. The black Escalade pulled to a stop a couple hundred feet away, lights on, engine off. The front doors opened and two men stepped out.

“Rogers?” the driver said.

“That’s me,” Steve replied. “You must be Zemo?”

“I am,” the man nodded. “This is my associate, Karpov. You have the money?”

“Straight to the point, aren’t you?” Bucky grumbled. He dropped the duffle bag he’d yanked out of the backseat of Steve’s truck on the ground in front of them. “Your turn.”

Zemo chuckled, but he gestured to Karpov, who retrieved three large bags from the back of the Escalade, handing them to Bucky while Zemo picked up the duffle full of money.

It was over quicker than Steve had imagined; less than fifteen minutes before he and Bucky were back in his truck, heading back to his uncle’s club. He pulled into the alley, stopping outside the back door and cutting the engine.

“Take it to the basement, Buck,” he ordered. “I’m gonna tell Tony we’re back.” He vaulted over the railing by the steps and hurried inside.

Halfway down the hallway, he spotted Y/N coming out of one of the dressing rooms. She was wearing her usual uniform - short skirt, thigh highs, cropped top cut low, plenty of skin showing. He hated the fucking thing; he couldn’t wait to get her out of this place so she’d never have to wear it again.

“Y/N,” he yelled.

She spun around, a smile spreading across her face when she saw Steve. She waited for him to reach her, her arms going around his neck, pulling him down to kiss her. He didn’t argue, taking a few seconds to hold her in his arms, to inhale the scent of her shampoo, to feel her lips moving against his. Far too soon, they had to separate, Y/N to wait tables, Steve to find his uncle.

Tony was where he usually was, in his room off the main floor, the room that was considered his office, where most of his business dealings took place. As soon as he came through the door, Happy, his uncle’s bodyguard, patted him down, standard procedure no matter who you were, even family. It was the reason he hadn’t been able to bug Tony’s office. He surrendered his gun to Happy, laughing at his joke about getting it back when he got older and exchanging a fist bump with the man who’d been a part of his life as long as his uncle.

“Steven!” Tony greeted him with more enthusiasm than he’d expected. He cringed inwardly, as he did almost every time he saw his uncle as of late. Betraying your family, even if it was for the greater good, was a bitch.

“Uncle Tony,” he smiled, shaking his uncle’s outstretched hand.

“How’d it go?” Tony asked.”Everything good.”

“Went great,” Steve said. “We’re all good.”

“Great.” Tony clapped his hands together. “You and Bucky did great. Take the rest of the night off. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Steve met Bucky in the bar. Despite having dumped the drugs in the basement of the club, he still seemed to be on edge, his leg bouncing up and down as he sipped from his beer, his fingers tapping on the tabletop.

“Buck, you okay?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he muttered. “You seen Nat?”

“No, not lately. I’m sure she’s around here somewhere,” Steve assured him. “You want me to find Y/N and ask her?”

Natasha ‘Nat’ Romanoff was Y/N’s best friend and Bucky’s girlfriend. She’d been working at the club for a couple of years, starting just a few months before Y/N. 

“Nah, she’ll find me,” Bucky shrugged. “She always does.” He raised his bottle to Steve. “Here’s to a successful night.”

Steve tapped his bottle against Bucky’s, his head bobbing in the briefest of nods. It had definitely been successful; he was one step closer to taking down his uncle’s empire.

So, why did he feel like shit?

* * *

It took an hour after he and Bucky arrived at the bar for the shitty feeling to begin to abate; an hour, three cigarettes, and a handful of drinks. He was buzzed, finally, that sense of impending doom fading.

Bucky had disappeared with Nat twenty minutes earlier, as soon as she came off the stage, and Steve suspected they wouldn’t be back any time soon. He was antsy, on edge, the thoughts in his head tripping over one another. He needed to do something to calm down.

Y/N waved at him from the other side of the club, gesturing for him to join her. He stubbed out his cigarette and downed the rest of his drink before striding purposefully across the room, taking her by the upper arm and dragging her a few feet down a dimly lit hallway. He leaned against the wall and pulled her into his arms.

“Hey,” she smiled. “I’ve got a break, do you wanna -”

Steve didn’t let her finish, instead he put a finger against her lips and pushed her backwards into one of the rooms that lined the back hallway of the club, one of the “private” rooms reserved for VIPs. Tonight it was empty and he was taking advantage of it. He kicked the door closed, flipped the lock, and pounced, crushing her to his chest, his mouth slanted over hers.

“I’ve only got a few minutes,” she mumbled when he finally let her come up for air.

“You’re with me,” he said. “It’s okay.” He took hold of her waist, her bare skin cool under his hands, and pushed her across the room until her back hit the wall. He leaned over her, caught her lips in his again and kissed her, his tongue pushing into her mouth. 

Y/N put her hands on his chest and pushed him away. “So, what, you think if I’m with you, I won’t get in trouble?”

“I don’t think Donald is gonna yell at you for taking a break with Tony’s nephew,” he chuckled. “But I could always let you go back to work.” He took a step backwards, though he kept his hands on her waist.

She moaned when he pulled away. “Wait a minute,” she said. “Come here.” She tugged gently, pulling him back to her. She wrapped a hand around his neck, rose up on her toes and kissed him.

Steve pushed her back against the wall, his tongue delicately tracing her lips, his knee between her legs. Y/N tightened the hold on the back of his neck, moaning into his mouth, the kiss deepening. She looped a finger in the waistband of his jeans and tried to pull him closer.

He resisted, holding back, chuckling under his breath. He slid a hand into her hair, his lips dropping to her neck, kissing the line of her throat. His other hand moved down her side, stopping just at the top of her thigh high stocking, his finger dancing along her inner thigh.

“Tell me to stop, Y/N, tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll let you go back to work, forget any of this happened,” he whispered, his beard scratching her throat as he talked. She shivered in his arms.

“If you stop, I’ll kick your ass,” she muttered.

Steve slammed her against the wall, not hard, but hard enough to let her know how it was going to be. She moaned, the sound going straight to his dick. He yanked her skirt above her waist and ripped the flimsy lacy underwear she was wearing from her body.

“Hey,” she protested.

“I’ll buy you a new pair,” he murmured, swiftly opening his jeans, his cock springing free. Steve picked her up and pulled her legs around his waist, easing into her, moaning as he buried himself inside of her. “Fuck, baby, that feels good.”

Y/N could only nod, her lower lip caught between her teeth, her body pulsing around him. He used the wall to hold her in place as he began to move, one hand in her hair, pulling it, forcing her head back so he could attack her neck. He roughly kneaded her breast with the other hand, pinching and tugging at the nipple through her flimsy shirt and bra.

Steve wasn’t gentle, not that he’d promised he would be. Gentleness was best saved for the bedroom, not the back room of a strip club on his girlfriend’s break. Y/N didn’t seem to mind, not if the sinfully perfect moans that fell from her lips were any indication; every thrust slammed her back and head against the wall, every drag of his cock slid across her sweet spot, making her entire body tremble as he pushed her toward climax.

Y/N’s fingers twisted in the shirt he was wearing and the other in his hair, tugging just enough to earn her an answering twist to her own hair and a groan of satisfaction from Steve. He loved it when she played rough. He pressed his forehead against hers and dragged in a ragged breath. 

“Fuck, yeah,” Steve groaned. “So goddamn good.” He moved faster, fucking her harder and harder, his head thrown back, a low, thick snarl escaping him.

She came with a choking gasp, her fingers digging into his scalp, grinding down on him even as he pushed her against the wall, pounding into her at an insane pace, coming just a few seconds after her. He held her against the wall, kissing her, until a sharp knock at the door interrupted him.

“Time’s up!” a deep voice barked.

Y/N giggled, shaking her head. “I guess they think -”

“I know what they think,” Steve muttered, lowering her to her feet. “You better go.” He grabbed her chin and placed a bruising kiss to her lips, nipping at the bottom one, drawing a gasp of surprise from Y/N.

“See you later?” she asked.

“I’ll call you,” was his only reply. 

Y/N straightened her clothes and pushed a hand through her hair before yanking open the door and hurrying down the hall, the door swinging shut behind her. Steve tucked himself back into his pants and lit a cigarette, pulling in a deep drag. There was a half empty bottle of whiskey on the table, so he grabbed it and took a long pull, the burn barely noticeable after a night of downing shot after shot. 

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror above the red velvet sofa on the back wall; his hair was standing on end, his clothes wrinkled and askew, his eyes bloodshot with dark, purple bruises beneath them, a pinched, hardened look on his normally handsome face. He scratched his fingers through his beard, wincing at the bruised knuckles and multiple cuts peppering the right one. He stared at it for a second, noting the way it trembled, the ashes from his cigarette falling to the ground.

A knock on the door drew him out of whatever funk had fallen over him. He strode across the room and swung open the door. His uncle’s accountant, Maria Hill, stood on the other side.

“Mr. Stark wants to see you,” she said. “There’s a problem.”


	4. Nobody Knows Anything

 

Tony met them halfway across the bar, his face hard and angry. He dismissed Hill with a nod, then without a word, he turned and made his way to the stairs leading down to the basement.

“What’s going on Uncle Tony?” Steve asked, hurrying after him.

“Where’s James?” Tony growled, ignoring Steve’s question.

“Bucky?” Steve muttered. “I think he’s with Nat. I haven’t seen him in almost an hour.”

Tony stopped and called over his shoulder. “Happy?”

“Yeah, boss?” the bodyguard replied.

“Find Mr. Barnes, would you?”

“Yes, sir.” Happy took off, heading back up the stairs.

Tony continued down the stairs, Steve on his heels. They hit the bottom of the stairs, turned left and made their way to a room tucked behind the stairs. The bags of drugs were on a table in the center of the room, open, spread out. Tony swept his arm wide as he swung around and stared at Steve.

“You see this, Steven?” he said. “This is my empire, my legacy. Everything I’ve worked for my entire life is going to be yours someday. It would only take one thing, one person, to bring it down.”

“What are you talking about, Uncle Tony?” Steve pushed a hand through his hair, suddenly terrified at the direction this conversation was going. “Is something wrong?”

“There’s drugs missing,” Tony explained. “And I want to know where they are.”

“You think I took them?” Steve scoffed. “That’s bullshit.”

“Not you,” Tony shook his head. “James.”

That was not what he’d been expecting to hear. He took a step forward, hoping he could calm his uncle down. “Bucky? There’s no way Bucky took ‘em.”

“He’s an addict Steve,” his uncle interjected.

“Was an addict. Was. Buck’s been clean for years. Things are going good, he’s not gonna screw that up.” If Bucky had taken those drugs, something Steve didn’t even want to contemplate, his uncle would go apeshit. He didn’t want to think about what Tony would do to his friend if it was true.

The door at the top of the stairs opened and Bucky appeared a few seconds later. He stopped next to Steve, obviously confused.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he said, taking a drink from the bottle of beer in his hand. “Happy said you wanted to see me?”

Tony’s eyes narrowed and before Steve could even blink, his uncle was pushing Bucky across the room and slamming him into the wall, his forearm across Bucky’s throat, his face contorted into a mask of rage.

“You goddamn junky, what did you do with my drugs?” he snarled.

Bucky coughed, gagging, his blue eyes bulging. His beer slipped from his fingers and hit the ground, the bottle shattering into a million pieces, beer splashing across Tony’s designer shoes.

Steve leapt across the room and pulled his uncle off of his best friend, forcing them apart and stepping between them. He put his hands on Tony’s chest and shoved him backwards.

“That’s enough!” he yelled, spit flying through the air, landing on Tony’s tie.

“What the fuck was that?” Bucky sputtered, trying to shove Steve out of the way to get to Tony.

“Bucky, cool it!” he snapped, shoving him backwards.

“Where is it, James? Where are my drugs?” Tony shouted, pointing his finger at the former soldier.

“Is that what this is about? You think I took your drugs? That’s fucking bullshit and you know it!” Bucky was screaming, out of his mind, his fists clenched, spittle flying from his lips.

“You’re a junky, James,” Tony said. “I never should have let you -”

“Boss?” Happy was at the top of the stairs, red-faced, flustered. “Boss, we gotta talk.”

“Not now,” Tony growled.

Happy came down the stairs, shaking his head. Donald, the club’s bartender and manager was right behind him. “I’m sorry, boss, but this can’t wait. It’s not Bucky.”

“What?” Tony swung around, his head tipped to one side, confused. “What the hell are you talking about?

“Donald said Bucky’s been with Nat for over an hour, Nat said it too. Nobody’s been down here since Steve and Bucky got back, nobody except Brock,” Happy explained.

“Rumlow was down here?” Steve said. “When?”

“About ten minutes after you and Bucky dropped the shipment,” Donald said. “While you were in with Tony. I saw him go through the door,” he gestured toward the top of the stairs, “and then I saw him leave, carrying one of those bags the girls keep their shit in, the ones with the club’s name all over it. He headed down the hall towards the girls’ dressing room and I haven’t seen him since.”

“Steven,” Tony mumbled.

“I’ll find him,” Steve replied. “I promise. Buck.” He tipped his head toward the stairs. He and Bucky were almost out the door when his uncle called his name.

“You know what to do if you find him, right Steven?” Tony asked.

“Yes, sir,” Steve said. “Yes, I do.”

* * *

“What did Tony mean, you know what to do?” Bucky asked as he followed Steve down the hall to the girl’s dressing room.

Steve glanced at Bucky out of the corner of his eye. All their lives, since they were kids, Bucky had been able to understand what Steve was thinking with just a glance or a nod of his head. This time wasn’t any different. His eyebrows went up and his mouth dropped open, though to his credit he snapped it closed almost immediately.

“What are we doing?” Bucky inquired instead.

“Finding out if Sharon is still Brock’s girl of the week,” Steve explained. “I’m sure Y/N or Nat will know.”

“Nat’ll know,” Bucky chuckled. “She knows everything that happens in here.”

Steve knocked twice and waited. Men were not allowed in the girl’s dressing room unannounced. It was a hard and fast rule that was never broken. Never. It was a full two minutes before Pepper opened the door, a smile lighting up her face when she saw Steve.

“Steve,” she purred. “How are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m good, Aunt Pepper,” he smiled. “Can Buck and I talk to Natasha and Y/N?”

“Yeah, come on in,” she replied, pulling the door open and gesturing for them to come in.

“Bucky!” Nat’s cry echoed through the room. She came at a dead run and threw herself into Bucky’s arms, her arms going around his neck, legs around his waist, and her lips on his.

“Didn’t she just see you a few minutes ago?” Steve chuckled, his arm sliding around Y/N’s waist as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Fuck you, Rogers,” Nat growled playfully, dropping her feet to the ground. “What are you two doing in here?”

“Got a question for, doll,” Bucky said. “Either of you know who Rumlow’s dating this week? Is it still Sharon?”

“Yeah,” Nat nodded.

Steve didn’t miss the quick glance Bucky shot his way or the look Nat and Y/N exchanged. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. He and Sharon had dated a long time ago, before he’d joined the force. Their break up had been ugly, very ugly. Sharon had thrown in with his uncle when he’d told them he was joining the force, claiming Steve was turning his back on not only his family, but her as well. She’d done her best to guilt him into staying, even going so far as to claim she was pregnant, hoping it would convince Steve to join his uncle’s business and forego the police academy. And he’d almost done it, until Pepper, of all people, had taken him aside and told him the truth. He’d walked out of the club that day and never looked back.

Once he’d been brought back into the fold, everyone, including Sharon, had assumed they’d start dating again. Apparently he was supposed to forget everything and pick up right where they’d left off. He wasn’t having any of it, in fact, he’d done his best to avoid her as much as possible. When he and Y/N had become a couple, she’d backed off.

He’d known that Sharon was spending time with Brock, but he’d made a point of staying out of it; it wasn’t any of his business. But the cop in him, the cop he kept buried deep inside, hidden from the rest of the world, couldn’t help but be worried. Rumlow was notorious for hurting the girls he dated, and to hear Nat and Y/N talk, it was a common occurrence.

“Aunt Pepper?” Steve said.

Pepper was right there beside him. She didn’t say a word, just grabbed a pad of paper, scribbled something on it, and held it out to Steve. “That’s her new place,” she said. “Be careful, Steve. You too, Buck.” She patted each of them lovingly on the cheek before heading out the door.

“Steve?” Y/N mumbled.

He kissed the top of her head and squeezed her upper arm. “I’ll call you later,” he murmured. “Buck?”

Bucky crushed Natasha to his chest, his nose buried in her dark red curls. He released her and followed Steve out the door.

* * *

“Come on, Buck,” Steve muttered.

“Would you shut the hell up?” his friend snarled. “You aren’t making this any easier.” He shifted on his knees, shot a look over his shoulder, and went back to picking the lock on Sharon’s apartment door.

Sharon hadn’t answered when they’d buzzed her apartment, nor had she answered her phone when Steve had tried to call. They’d managed to get in when another resident left the building - Bucky distracted her, allowing Steve to slip in - and once she’d gone, he’d let Bucky in and they headed up the stairs to her apartment. He’d pounded on the door for nearly five minutes, until someone had yelled at him to shut the hell up, which was when Bucky had pulled out his tools, kneeled in front of the door, and set to work.

“All right, we’re in,” Bucky mumbled and pushed open the door.

Steve stepped past his friend, gun drawn, easing down the hallway toward the living room. The coffee table in front of the couch was covered in plastic bags, paper, and a white powdery substance that Steve was confident was coke. He stepped over some discarded beer bottles, his gut clenching, a sense of foreboding rushing through him. He shook it off, hurrying through the rest of the small apartment, finally coming to a stop in front of the only closed door in the apartment. Steve nodded at Bucky, who twisted the handle and threw open the door.

At first, Steve thought Sharon was asleep, the sheet pulled up over her head, so he called her name, twice. When she didn’t move, he crossed the room and yanked the sheet back. The blood was pooled beneath Sharon, spreading out from a wound to her head. It looked as if she’d been beaten, so severely she was barely recognizable. One side of her head was literally caved in, a deep crater carved out by god knew what, bruises dotted her once attractive face, and a ring of hand shaped bruises surrounded her neck. 

Steve knelt beside the bed and pressed two fingers to the side of her neck, shaking his head when it confirmed what he already knew to be true. She couldn’t have been dead long, she was still warm to the touch.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Steve, we gotta go. Now.”

Lights splashed across the walls, painting them red and blue. “What the fuck?” Steve grumbled, rising to his feet and pushing the curtain aside less than an inch, peering out. “Shit, you’re not kidding. We better go.”

They rushed out the door and without uttering a word, they turned and headed for the stairs, going up instead of down. The went up two floors, burst through the door and into a maintenance room. Steve threw open a window and climbed out, dropping two feet down to the fire escape, Bucky right behind him.

The hit came out of nowhere, slamming him into the brick wall, hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He dropped to the ground with a loud grunt, white stars bursting behind his closed eyes, a heavy weight crushing his chest.

The weight disappeared, air rushing back into his lungs. He dragged himself off the ground, using the wall for support, dragging in deep breath after deep breath, shaking his head, trying to clear the ringing in his ears. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Bucky grappling with someone, both men landing blow after blow, fighting for control. Steve lunged for them, hoping to help, but he fell to his knees, groaning as another jolt of pain shot through him.

He somehow managed to push himself to his knees only to see his best friend with a gun pointed at his head. Bucky let out a feral snarl, his hands wrapped around the wrist of the man with his hand twisted in his hair. Brock.

Rumlow pressed the gun deeper into Bucky’s forehead, digging it into his skull hard enough to leave a mark. Bucky tried to wrench free, unsuccessfully, doing nothing more than getting the butt of Brock’s gun slammed into his head. Blood trickled down his cheek from a cut on his forehead.

“Don’t fucking move,” Rumlow screamed.

“Brock, what the hell are you doing?” Steve muttered, dragging himself to his feet, leaning against the wall. His head was spinning, making his vision blurry, his balance off.

“Shut up!” Brock growled. “I gotta think.” His eyes were darting around, his pupils dilated, his breath rasping in and out, his hands shaking. “I gotta fucking think.”

“Are you high?” Steve asked.

Brock rolled his eyes, still sniffling. “Fuck you, Rogers,” he hissed. “What difference does it make?”

“Because maybe you can still walk away from this,” Steve replied. “I can talk to Uncle Tony, try to smooth things over. But if you’ve been sampling the merchandise -”

“Ha,” Brock scoffed. “I-I can’t walk away from this, there’s no fucking way. Maybe if Sharon -”

“Maybe if Sharon what?” Steve growled.

Brock laughed, a sharp barking sound that echoed off the brick walls of the alley. “She was gonna tell Stark everything. The money, the drugs, the Russians, all of it. I begged her not to, begged her, but she wouldn’t listen. Bitch wouldn’t fucking listen.”

“Did you kill her?” Steve snapped.

“She was gonna tell Tony,” Brock screamed. “I didn’t have a choice. I don’t have a choice.” He shoved his knee between Bucky’s shoulders, his hand on the back of his head, and pushed his face into the concrete, the gun pointed at the base of his neck.

“What are doing, Rumlow?” Steve took a step towards the man with a gun pointed at his best friend. “Let him go.”

Brock shook his head and a tear slipped down his cheek. “I can’t. But you know what? I think you’re right. I can still walk away from this.” He wasn’t talking to Steve, not really, he was carrying on some kind of bizarre conversation with himself. “I’ll tell Tony that you and Bucky fucked up, that you were skimming, and...and Sharon found out, so you offed her. Maybe...maybe I’ll tell him I walked in on you guys and we fought, or something, and I ended up killing you guys.Yeah, yeah, that’ll work.” He shoved the gun deeper into the back of Bucky’s neck.

Steve pulled the gun from the waistband of his jeans where he’d tucked it as he ran down the hall, dropped to a knee and pointed it at Rumlow. 

“I said let him go, Brock,” he shouted. He shook his head, trying to clear his head, get his aim right.

“What? Are you gonna shoot me? I’m not scared of some fucking pansy-assed, former cop.” He grimaced and cocked the gun.

Steve fired three times, two of the shots missing Brock, one hitting him in the shoulder, knocking him back several steps, blood flying through the air. His gun flew out of his hand, discharging when it landed between two trash cans on the far side of the alley. He turned and took off at a dead run down the alley, knocking trash aside as he moved.

Bucky struggled to his feet, one hand to his head, groaning. “Fuck Steve,” he mumbled. “Did you hit him?”

“One to the shoulder,” Steve nodded, his attention drawn toward the mouth of the alley where raised voices could be heard moving their direction.

“We gotta split, Steve,” Bucky said.

At first, Steve didn’t move, couldn’t move, he could only stand there and stare at the gun in his hand. A gun he’d never fired at someone before.

“Now, Steve!” Bucky was at his side, shouting in his ear, startling him into action. He tucked his gun back into the waistband of his jeans and took off, following his friend down the alley.

 


	5. A Hit is a Hit

 

“It’s all over the goddamn news,” Tony raged. 

“Uncle Tony -”

“What the fuck happened?” he snarled. “Explain to me how you two looking for Rumlow ended with a dead stripper and Rumlow on the run. Talk fast.”

Steve opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He downed another shot of scotch, relishing the burn. His hands were still shaking, so he shoved them into his lap, beneath the table out of sight.

“Sharon was dead when we got to the apartment,” Bucky interjected, coming to the aid of his friend. “There were drugs everywhere and Sharon was beat to shit, Tony. Her fucking head was caved in. It was obvious whoever did it was pissed and they took it out on her. Cops showed up, so we ducked out before they found us. My guess? Brock called them, hoping to set us up. We went up a floor, then down the fire escape. Rumlow ambushed us in the alley.” He glanced at Steve, but he just nodded at his friend to continue. “He was gonna kill me. Us. Steve shot him, he took off.”

Steve cleared his throat. “He’s been skimming, Uncle Tony. Money and drugs. Sharon found out and she was gonna tell you. Brock didn’t want that to happen.”

“Mother fucker,” Tony grumbled. “This is gonna bring a shit ton of heat down on the club. Happy?”

“Yeah, boss,” Happy stepped forward.

“Get that shit in the basement locked up and out of sight. Make sure everything in the club in up to par. Cops are gonna be here before we know it.” He yanked his glasses off and tossed them on his desk. “You two get cleaned up, then sit tight. When the cops show up, I want you out there, doing your jobs. We’re all gonna play nice, pretend we don’t know anything. No hiding, no bullshit. Everything’s normal.” He dropped into the chair behind his desk and waved his hand. “Go. Now.”

They dispersed, the room emptying quickly. Steve and Bucky hurried down the hall to a back room, a lounge, equipped with a shower. Bucky threw himself on the couch in the corner while Steve ducked into the shower.

He washed the dirt and grime from himself, then he turned the water as hot as he could stand and let it run over his shoulders, his hands on the wall. He dragged in a stuttering breath and let it out slowly, eyes squeezed closed. The image of Brock flying backwards and his blood splashing across the brick walls in the alley wouldn’t leave his head, wouldn’t stop playing on a loop over and over until he felt like he might puke. He’d never shot anyone, never even fired his weapon except on the shooting range or training exercises. But tonight, all of that had changed.  

People were dying, lives were being destroyed, and all he could do was sit back and watch. If they moved in too quick, his uncle would walk, and all of this would continue, but every day he held back, someone else died, someone else suffered. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could walk this line between the right and the wrong.

“Fuck,” he bellowed, his fist connecting with the wall, tiles shattering and crumbling to the ground. Blood ran down his knuckles, dripping to the concrete floor, swirling down the drain.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice floated from the other room. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah, Buck, I’m good,” he replied. He shut off the water, shook the water from his hair and grabbed a towel. He had to be good. He had no other option.

* * *

Steve was working security with Bucky, their so-called “real” jobs in the club, when the cops arrived, plainclothes, swooping in, four or five of them, led by none other than Steve’s former partner, friend, and handler, Sam Wilson.

“Detective Wilson,” Steve said, stopping him at the door. “Long time, no see.”

“Rogers,” Sam nodded. “Haven’t seen you since you quit.” He glanced around the club, disdain all over his face. “I can see you’ve come a long way since then.”

“Fuck you, Sam,” Steve growled. “What are you doing here?”

“Sharon Carter,” Sam answered.

“I’ll get her for you,” Steve shrugged. “Just wait here.” He shoved himself away from the wall, but before he could go anywhere, Sam stopped him.

“She’s dead,” he said.

To his credit, Steve didn’t even flinch. “Dead?” he asked. “Are you sure?”

“Found her beat to death in her bed,” Sam explained.

“Any idea who did it?” Steve inquired.

“You know Brock Rumlow?” Sam said.

“Of course I do,” Steve nodded. “You know I do Sam. You think he did it?”

“We know he was there. We also know he took off, was seen entering the alley. Another witness swears she heard him arguing with two other men, then gunshots. By the time the police got there, alley was empty. We found shells, blood, evidence of a fight...scuffle, something.”

“So you came here?” Steve sighed.

“There’s a few people I’d like to talk to,” his former partner muttered. “I’d like to start with your uncle.”

“Uncle Tony?” Steve scoffed. “Yeah, I’m sure he’s dying to talk to you.”

“Why don’t you go get him and we’ll see?” Sam muttered. “And while you’re doing that, I’ll have a word with your friend James.”

“Buck? Cops wanna have a word with you!” he shouted across the bar.

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he left his post beside the stage and made his way through the bar to Steve’s side. He stood in front of Sam, arms crossed, which only served to make his biceps look even larger than usual, the scowl on his face adding to the air of indifference and irritation surrounding him.

“Mr. Barnes, if you have a minute, I’d like to speak to you,” Sam said.

Bucky shrugged and followed the detective to a booth in the corner of the bar, Steve watching them go. He wasn’t worried, Buck could hold his own with anyone. He wouldn’t crack.

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and sent a message to his uncle.

_ Cops are here. _

Tony appeared at his side a few minutes later, Happy trailing after him. 

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Cops are talking to Bucky,” Steve replied. “Said they want to talk to you, too.”

“Well, let’s get it over with,” Tony smirked. He straightened his jacket before crossing the bar and sliding into the seat beside Sam.

The cops were in the bar for almost two hours, talking to practically everyone. Sam spent a half an hour with Tony, after excusing Bucky, who stomped past Steve, a deadly look on his face. He went to straight to Nat, who pulled him into her arms, her head resting against his chest, his hand in the middle of her back, his head resting on hers.

Steve had his turn, of course, though it was cursory, not that this surprised him. Sam asked him all the right questions, listened to Steve’s pat answers, and moved onto the next person on his list. When Steve saw them leaving Tony’s office for the second time, he figured they were done.

Sam pulled his cuffs from his waistband, marched past Steve, and went directly to Bucky. He grabbed him, spun him around, and slapped the cuffs on Bucky’s wrist, mumbling the Miranda rights as he walked him out of the bar. Steve could only stare after them until they were out the door. He swung around to tell his uncle what had happened, only to see Tony standing just a few feet away, his arms crossed, watching as Bucky was led away. When they were gone, he went into his office and closed the door.

 


	6. Tell Me No Lies

 

Steve followed his uncle, bursting through the door and pushing past Happy without slowing. He didn’t stop until he was standing in front of Tony, palms flat on his desk, leaning over it, trying desperately not to lose his temper. Tony dropped his pen, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms.

“What is it, Steven?” he sighed.

“How could you let Wilson arrest Bucky?” Steve asked, barely able to keep his voice level, calm. “Buck didn’t do anything!”

“Not according to the police. Bucky’s prints were found all over Sharon’s door, inside and out, all over the lock. The cops want to talk to him, find out why. His alibi is us, which apparently Wilson doesn’t trust. I did my best to keep them from taking him in, but I can only save one of you,” Tony shrugged. “Would you rather it be you sitting in jail, Steven?”

“I sure the hell don’t want it to be my friend,” Steve growled, slamming his hand on the desk. “If you’re not going to do anything, I will.”

He ignored his uncle yelling after him, urging him to stop, to come back and talk to him. Nat ambushed him as soon as he was back in the bar, following him, begging him to explain to her why Bucky had been arrested and what he was going to do about it. Steve brushed her off, which she was not happy about, but the only thing he cared about was getting to the station and talking to Sam, getting Bucky out, before something happened that couldn’t be fixed.

Things had been tough for Bucky in the military, tougher than anyone could ever imagine. Steve was worried about his state of mind, worried about him being in a cell, with God-knew-who, worried not that he would get hurt, but that someone else might. Bucky was dangerous, extremely dangerous, and if anything -or anyone - set him off, it would not end well. For the other person.

He parked down the street from the precinct, far enough away that no one would see him, at least that was his hope. He used a payphone on the corner to call Sam, since the burner cell was still stuffed in his sock drawer.

“Wilson,” Sam answered.

“You arrested Bucky?” Steve growled.

“What the fuck, Steve?” Sam’s voice dropped, so low Steve could barely hear him, though he did hear a chair scraping across the floor and the sound of a door slamming closed. “You can not call me here.”

“I can when you arrest my best friend for something he didn’t do,” Steve spat.

“Steve, listen,” Sam said. “I had to do something -”

“Bucky had nothing to do with Sharon’s death,” Steve interrupted.

“I know,” Sam said.

“What do you mean, you know?”

“I mean, I know Bucky didn’t kill Sharon. There was another reason Bucky was arrested,” Sam sighed.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Steve demanded.

“Just...trust me, okay. I know. He’s going to be released in a few hours,” Sam explained. “Talk to him, Steve. Some things are best kept between friends.” 

The call disconnected, leaving Steve staring at the phone in his hand, dumbfounded.

* * *

Steve opted to go back to his apartment, rather than the club. It was getting late and he was in no mood to talk to his uncle. To his surprise, Y/N was in his kitchen, standing at the stove. He dropped his keys to the table, walked up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and rested his chin on her shoulder.

“Hey, babe,” she murmured, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair. “Rough day?”

“Rough week,” Steve muttered. He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, then he grabbed the bottle of bourbon, and poured himself a drink. “What’re you doing here?”

“Thought I’d come see you, make you something to eat. I know it’s been a long day.” she replied. “Hey, I’ve got Max tomorrow. Wanna catch a movie or something? He’d love to see you.” She set a plate of eggs and bacon on the table, then slid into the chair next to him. “He misses you.”

“I’m sorry, doll,” Steve sighed. “Can’t.” Things were coming to a head and he didn’t dare take a day off to goof off. Too much could happen if he wasn’t around. Not to mention, he was exhausted. He’d been awake for going on thirty-six hours. He needed sleep.

“Oh,” Y/N mumbled. “Um...okay.”

Steve reached across the table and took her hand, his thumb brushing across her knuckles. He’d promised himself when he took this assignment that he wouldn’t let himself get attached to anyone, period. Then Y/N had inserted herself into his life and he’d fallen, hard. Not just for her, but her kid, too. He’d never said the words to her, but he was pretty sure he was in love with her. He prayed that when this was all over, she’d understand why he’d done what he did and agree to make a life with him.

“C’mere,” he murmured, tugging on her hand.

Y/N smiled, climbed into his lap, and laid her head on his shoulder. He pulled her close, his hand on her hip, squeezing gently, and kissed her temple. She looked up at him, staring into his eyes, nothing but love and adoration visible on her face. For a second, guilt overwhelmed him, brought on by all the lies he’d told, and the knowledge that what he was doing was going to cause a lot of collateral damage to people he truly cared about. He would have spiraled into a vortex of overwhelming emotion, but Y/N cupped his cheek and brought his lips to hers, moaning a little in the back of her throat as she kissed him. 

Steve immersed himself in the kiss, let himself get lost in the feel of her hands on his face, the scent of her filling his head. He pushed a hand beneath her shirt and up her side, his rough, calloused fingers drifting across her ribs to her breast, teasing the nipple with his thumb and forefinger. Her back arched, pushing into his hand, her nails scratching at his bearded cheek, her breath quickening, and her eyes rolling back in her head.

“You make me forget all the bad,” he whispered, his mouth traveling from hers down her neck, sucking at her pulse point, his breath blowing against her flushed skin. “If it wasn’t for you -”

The knock at the door was sharp and loud, startling them both. Steve stood up, set Y/N on her feet, and grabbed his gun. He shoved her behind him, a finger to his lips, his hand on the doorknob. He kept the flimsy chain in place as he slowly opened the door and peered out.

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Buck, thank God.” Steve released the chain and threw open the door. “Get your ass in here.”

Bucky stepped inside and let Steve haul him into a tight hug, a resigned grin on his face. Steve didn’t care. Bucky was his friend and by God he was going to hug him and Bucky would just have to stand there and take it.

“Can I get a drink?” Bucky mumbled.

Y/N was already on it, pouring two glasses of bourbon from the bottle on the table. She set it down and stood awkwardly beside the table, looking back and forth between the two men. 

“Buck, could you excuse us a minute?” Steve said.

Bucky nodded and disappeared into the other room. Steve backed Y/N up against the counter, his hands on her waist. He ducked his head and caught her lips in his, kissing her until they were both breathless. When he finally released her, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes blown wide with lust.

“Look, babe, I gotta talk to Buck. Alone,” he whispered.

“Okay,” she sighed. She grabbed her purse from the table, pushed up on her toes, and pressed a kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth.

I’ll see you later,” he murmured. She left without another word, leaving Steve to close the door and throw the lock.

While Steve was saying his goodbyes to Y/N, Bucky had settled himself in the living room, kicked back in the chair, feet on the footstool, shoes off, jazz music playing on the stereo. Steve couldn’t help but chuckle; Bucky was just as comfortable at his place as he was at his own, if not more so. Shit, he looked half asleep.

He dropped to the couch. “You have to tell me what happened, Buck,” he said. “I thought for sure they were gonna pin Sharon’s death on you.”

“They let me go,” Bucky shrugged.

“Obviously,” Steve chuckled. “But why?”

Bucky dropped his feet to the floor, leaned forward, and rested his elbows on his knees, eerily calm and pensive. He scrubbed a hand over his face and sucked in a deep breath.

“Buck?” Steve prompted.

“I know, Steve,” he said.

“Know what?” Steve asked. His heart felt like it was in his throat and sweat had broken out right between his shoulder blades. He didn’t like the direction this conversation was headed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Bucky grabbed his drink and downed it. “I know you didn’t wash out of the force. I know you’ve been working undercover for more than two years, working to bring down your uncle’s business from the inside. I know everything.”

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, staring at each other across the open space, years of friendship suddenly hinging on this one moment in time, hinging on whatever Steve said. And for the life of him, he couldn’t explain, couldn’t think of anything to say that would make a difference. He finished the rest of his drink and cleared his throat.

“Let me explain,” he mumbled.

“No need,” Bucky said. “I get it.”

“What do you mean, you get it?” Steve asked.

Bucky reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open and tossed it on the coffee table. The gold badge glinted in the setting sun coming through the window. Bucky stood up and held out his hand.

“Special Agent James Buchanan Barnes, FBI,” he said. “Nice to meet you, Officer Rogers.”

 


	7. Members Only

 

After he released Bucky’s hand, Steve could only stare at his best friend, a man he suddenly felt like he didn’t know. They’d been friends since they were kids, grown up together, elementary school, high school, then Bucky had joined the Army, while Steve had gone to college for a couple of years before he’d joined the force. Now everything had changed.

“Say something, brother,” Bucky urged, his shoulders tensed and his forehead furrowed.

“You’re a fed?” Steve mumbled, scrubbing his hand over his lips. “FBI?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded. “They recruited me right after sniper school. Swooped in, dragged me to Quantico, made me all these promises, filled my head with all these ideas, most of which I still believe in. My four years in the Army? I spent three of them in Afghanistan and my last year, I was training at Quantico.”

“So, while we all thought you were doing another tour -”

“I was learning the ropes,” Bucky said. “Specifically, how to work undercover.”

“The FBI put you back in the family?” Steve asked. “Sent you in after my uncle?”

Bucky grabbed a pack of cigarettes off the coffee table and shook one free. He leaned back in the chair, feet back up on the footstool, and took a long, slow drag. “Apparently, that was the plan all along. Recruit me, train me, put me back in to bring down Stark and his enterprise. Your uncle is a big fish in an even bigger pond. Cops and feds alike both want him locked up. The FBI is hoping to get him on RICO violations. I think I can get him on murder and drug charges. What about you?”

“Same,” Steve replied. “Murder, drugs, whatever I can get him on. New York is tired of Uncle Tony running the show. They want him brought down.”

He gestured to Bucky, who tossed him the pack of cigarettes and the lighter. He lit a cigarette and poured himself another drink. They sat in silence for a while, smoking and drinking, staring at the sun setting out the window, the room slowly falling into darkness.

“Why’d they arrest you?” Steve mumbled after the sun had slipped below the horizon.

“For show,” Bucky shrugged. “Nothing more. Bosses are worried that Tony suspects someone in the club is a rat, especially since he’s been cracking down on security. Can’t fucking get past Happy with your phone in your pocket lately. Not even you.”

“My uncle’s always been smarter than people give him credit for,” Steve shrugged. “I’m sure he suspects something ain’t right. I think we’re gonna have to make a move soon or Tony’ll walk.”

“You okay with that?” Bucky murmured. “He’s your uncle, man.”

“I know,” Steve sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed closed. “He raised me, Buck. Tony was the only one there for me when my folks died. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have anything.”

“But?”

“But, everything he has, everything he’s given me, has come from all of the shit he’s done.” Steve swallowed past the lump rising in his throat. “It’s wrong, Bucky. All of it. As much as I appreciate everything Uncle Tony has done for me, I can’t sit back and watch it happen anymore.” He cleared his throat. “What about you, Buck, what’s your excuse?”

“I don’t want to see another person get hooked like I did,” Bucky shrugged. “Drugs fucked me up, Steve, nearly ruined my life. You know that. If it wasn’t for you and then the Army, I’d be dead. If I can stop that from happening to even one person, than I’ve accomplished something with my life.”

“Amen, brother,” Steve nodded. He stifled a yawn, drawing a chuckle from his friend.

“You sleepy?” Bucky laughed.

“I haven’t slept in thirty-six hours,” Steve mumbled. “I’m dead on my feet.”

“Not gonna lie,” Bucky said, “I could sleep.”

Steve pushed himself to his feet and pointed to the coffee table. “There’s a pillow and blanket under there,” he said. “Feel free to use the couch.”

“Thanks, Steve,” Bucky mumbled. “For everything.”

“It’s what friends do,” Steve said.

“So we’re still friends?” Bucky asked.

“Of course,” he replied. “Til the end of the line, right?”

“Til the end of the line,” Bucky nodded.

* * *

“We’re not stopping for breakfast?” Bucky mumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“No,” Steve chuckled. “Uncle Tony wants to see us. Both of us. I’m not keeping him waiting.” He cleared his throat. “You think this is gonna work, Buck? You and me, undercover?”

“I think we gotta keep plugging away. Make sure nothing changes,” Bucky shrugged. “We just keep doing what we’re doing.”

“Agreed,” Steve nodded. “And despite what Tony says, he’s armpit deep in the drug trade. There’s gonna be another shipment. Soon.”

“Do you think he’ll let us handle it?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah,” Steve replied. “He trusts me. And he trusts that I trust you.”

“We need to find, Brock,” Bucky added. “He’s gone off the deep end and there’s no pulling him back. We need to find him and get him in custody, ASAP. That needs to be our first priority.”

“That’s not going to work for Tony,” Steve shook his head. “If we find Brock, Tony is going to want him dead. Nothing less.”

“I know,” Bucky sighed.

Steve parked his truck in his usual spot in the back alley. Happy was waiting for them, leaning against the wall by the door. Without a word, he gestured for them to follow him, leading them through the club to Tony’s office.

“Nat working today?” Steve asked as they passed the girls dressing room. He hadn’t missed Bucky’s glance that direction.

Bucky nodded. “How about Y/N?”

“She’s off, gets Max for the day,” Steve said.

“She any closer to getting custody of her kid back?” Bucky inquired.

“Not yet,” Steve mumbled. “But I’m hoping I can help turn that around.” He would have said more, explained himself maybe, but they’d reached his uncle’s office.

“Empty your pockets, boys,” Happy ordered as he threw open the office door. “You know the rules.”

“It’s a fucking phone, Hap,” Bucky grumbled as he pulled his phone from his pocket and dropped it to the counter beside Happy. “What am I gonna do, text someone to death?”

“Ain’t you a goddamn comedian, asshole,” Happy groused. “Empty your fucking pockets and quit whining. Don’t forget your gun and the pig-sticker you keep strapped to your ankle.”

Bucky glared at Happy, but he did as instructed, putting his gun and knife on the counter beside his phone. Steve followed suit, then the two of them crossed the room to sit across from Tony.

“I knew they wouldn’t hold you long,” Tony said, nodding Bucky’s direction.

Bucky snorted through his nose and shook his head, muttering incoherently under his breath. Tony ignored him, shaking his head. He tossed a small black book to Steve, which he caught deftly with one hand.

“What’s this?” he mumbled.

“A list of incoming shipments,” Tony replied. “I want you and James to take over. You guys did a passable job on the last one - aside from the situation with Brock, which I know was not your fault. I think it’s time to get you more involved, that you took on more responsibility.”

“Really?” Steve murmured. His stomach felt like it was tied in knots. If Tony was really handing him something like this, it was a game changer. This was what he needed to bring an end to his uncle’s business. Permanently.

“Of course,” Tony shrugged. “Like I said, it’s time. You can do this. I’ve been grooming you since you were a kid to take over the business. It’s time you got more involved. I’m not Iron Man, I can’t do this forever. With James’s help, you’ll be unstoppable.”

Steve rose to his feet and shook his uncle’s hand. “You don’t know what this means to me, Uncle Tony. This is going to change everything.”

“I don’t know about that,” Tony laughed. He waved a hand toward the door. “Go, get yourselves organized, make sure you’re ready for the next shipment. It’ll be in the day after tomorrow.”

* * *

Steve disconnected the call without leaving a message. He’d already left three voicemails and sent several texts, but Y/N had yet to respond. He shoved his phone in his pocket and grabbed another beer from the fridge, then he picked up his burner phone and dialed the only number stored in it.

Sam answered the phone on the first ring. “I wasn’t expecting a call from you,” he mumbled.

“Did you know Bucky was a fed?” Steve blurted.

“No,” Sam sighed. “Not until the day of the arrest. I swear. I had no idea the FBI had put anybody in until we were told to grab Bucky. I guess they’re concerned that Tony suspects something so they thought arresting their golden boy would take something of the suspicion off of him.”

“It worked,” Steve said, making his way through the kitchen to the living room. He kicked his shoes off and laid on the couch, his hand over his eyes. “Tony just handed over a major part of the business to me and Buck.”

“What?” Sam sounded as surprised as Steve had been when Tony had literally thrown the drug shipments at him. “You’re shitting me?”

“Nope, handed over a book with a list of incoming shipments from now until well into next year.” Steve took a long pull of his beer. “Enough to bring my uncle down, put him away for a while.”

“You ready for that?” Sam asked quietly.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Steve shrugged.

“What about Agent Barnes?” Sam inquired.

“What about him?” Steve muttered.

“You okay working with the feds?”

“I will be,” Steve replied. “We’ll work it out. Besides, Bucky’s my friend.”

“Alright,” Sam said. “What’s the play?”

“Let us get through this first shipment, get the lay of the land so to speak, then I’ll let you know. Things are coming to a head; everybody in the club is on edge - Tony, Happy, everybody, even Pepper. It’s time to get this thing finalized.” He dragged in a deep breath. “Look, I gotta go. I’m fucking beat.” He disconnected the call without waiting for a reply and threw the phone on the coffee table.

He’d been at the club for hours, talking with Bucky, going through the book, he’d even worked security for a couple of hours. Buck was coming over after he saw Nat; they needed to formulate some kind of plan to make this joint operation they’d been thrust into work for everybody. Couldn’t exactly do that at the club, ears everywhere, people all up in their business. So, they’d agreed to meet at Steve’s later to talk things out. In the meantime, he’d try to get some shut eye.

He was almost asleep, right on the edge, the real world blending with the dream world, when a ringing phone dragged him back to the real world. He yanked his phone from his pocket and hit the button without bothering to look who was calling.

“Yeah?”

“Rogers?” Brock’s voice, raspy and thick, that one word filled with enough contempt to make Steve’s skin crawl.

“Rumlow?” He sat up so fast his head spun, the alcohol and lack of food overwhelming him. “Where the fuck are you?”

“Like I’d fucking tell you that,” Brock growled.

“Then what do you want?” Steve asked.

“I want the drugs,” Brock replied. “The shipment that’s coming in day after tomorrow. You’re gonna give it to me. All of it.”

“No, no way,” Steve was shaking his head, even though Rumlow couldn’t see him. “No fucking way.”

“You’re gonna give it to me, Rogers,” Brock said. “You and that asshole friend of yours, Barnes. No arguments, no questions asked.”

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t, you won’t be the only one who regrets it.” Brock disconnected the call.

Steve sat staring at his phone, wondering if he could get Sam to trace the call, see if it pinged off any cell towers, help him locate Rumlow. He reached for his burner, but an incoming text stopped him. An image from Brock Rumlow. He opened it, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might leap out of his chest.

On his screen was a picture of Y/N sitting on a ratty couch, her arms around her son, both of them terror-stricken, tears on their face, their fear so obvious Steve felt like he could reach out and touch it. Rumlow had added a message.

_ Don’t make them regret it, too. _

 


	8. The Bad Man

“Steve, you have got to calm down,” Bucky ordered, his eyes following his friend as he stalked around the small apartment. “We can not go in there, guns blazing. Do you really want to throw away everything you’ve worked for the last two years?”

“It’s Y/N, Buck. And Max. Brock took a kid.” Steve was fuming, his face red, dragging in ragged breath after ragged breath. “I can’t let him get away with this.”

“And you won’t,” Bucky said. “I promise you, we will take care of this.”

“How the hell are we gonna do that?” Steve demanded.

Bucky shoved a drink in Steve’s hand and pointed at the kitchen chair. “Sit,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Surprisingly, Steve did as Bucky said, dropping into the seat at the table and downing the whiskey Bucky had given him. He grabbed the bottle and poured himself another one, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Bucky, we gotta do something.”

“I know,” his friend growled. “Give me a minute to make a couple of calls.” He snatched his cell phone off the counter and disappeared into the living room.

Steve couldn’t sit still for long; within seconds, he pushed himself to his feet, shook a cigarette out of the pack on the table, and grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the table. He didn’t bother with the glass, he drank it straight from the bottle as he paced around the small kitchen.

God, he wanted a blow so bad he couldn’t even think straight. It had been years since he’d had any coke, not since high school when he and Bucky had both gotten sucked into the world. He’d been able to let it go, but it had grabbed onto Bucky and sent him spiraling out of control. But right now, he would have given his left nut for one hit, just to calm his nerves. He’d have to settle for the whiskey.

Bucky appeared in the doorway, his cell phone in his hand. “We’ll have back up,” he said, wiggling his phone from side to side. “How are you gonna get the drugs to Brock? Tony is going to expect us to deliver them to the club and when we don’t…”

“I’ll schedule the meet with Brock after the pick up,” Steve shrugged.

“What if we tell Tony it was delayed?” Bucky said. “Then we meet up with Brock, make him think he’s getting the drugs? Between the two of us, we can get enough men in there to take him down. If we play all of our cards right, we can get Y/N and her kid, and take down Brock and Tony will be none the wiser.”

“That might work,” Steve nodded.

“It’ll work,” Bucky said. “Trust me.”

* * *

Steve was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, muttering under his breath. This was taking too long. Brock should have been there more than half an hour earlier, but he’d yet to arrive. He checked his watch for what felt like the hundredth time.

“He’ll be here,” Bucky assured him. “Getting his hands on that shipment and getting it to the Russians is all that matters.”

Ten minutes later, a small midsize sedan rounded the corner and came to a stop beneath the bridge. Brock climbed from the car and opened the back door. Y/N emerged, Max at her side, his hand in hers, his face tear streaked and dirty. Y/N had a bruise on her cheek and a bloodied lip. Brock grabbed her by the elbow and shoved her toward the front of the car.

White hot anger washed over Steve; he was going to kill Brock for daring to lay a hand on her. He grabbed the SUV’s door handle, but Bucky stopped him.

“Steve,” he hissed. “You can not lose control. Do you understand me? You have to keep it together. We need Brock alive. He’s not walking out of here on his own volition. Okay?”

Steve dragged in a deep breath. “Okay,” he exhaled before pushing open the door. He walked slowly to the front of the SUV, his fists clenched at his sides. He had to do as Bucky instructed, he couldn’t afford to fuck this up.

The sun was just visible above the horizon, reflecting off the river. Max squinted, staring at Steve, a shudder running through him.

“It’s okay, Max,” he reassured the boy.

“Hand it over, Rogers,” Brock growled.

“You send over Y/N and her son first,” Bucky yelled. “Then you get the drugs.”

“Fuck you, Barnes,” Brock replied. “Just give me the fucking drugs.”

“You know that isn’t how this works, Rumlow,” Steve said.

“Fine,” Brock snapped. “Get over their, Y/N.”

“Wh-what?” she sputtered. “I’m not going anywhere without my son, asshole.”

Brock wrenched her away from Max, ignoring the boys cries, and shoved her toward Steve and Bucky. She stumbled and fell to her knees, crying out at the bite of gravel. Steve was at her side in a split second, helping her to her feet and pulling her into his arms.

“Steve,” she gasped. “Max...please…”

“It’s okay, doll,” he murmured, his lips pressed to her temple. “We’ll get him.” He walked back to the SUV and put her behind the open driver’s side door, ordering her to stay put. He grabbed the black bag from the backseat and returned to Bucky’s side. He threw the bag on the ground at his feet.

“There’s your drugs, Brock,” Steve snarled. “Let the boy go.”

Instead, Rumlow leaned over and whispered something in Max’s ear, then pointed at the bag. Max hurried across the short span of space, scooped up the bag, and scurried back to Brock’s side. Brock snatched the bag out of his hands and ripped it open. He rummaged through it, muttering to himself. When he was satisfied, he set the bag on the hood of the car.

“Tell your uncle I said to fuck off,” he laughed. “And good riddance.”

“Max, come here,” Steve ordered.

He had no idea how it happened, or even who took the first shot - the FBI or the NYPD. What he did know was that as soon as Max moved, taking a step closer to Steve, a shot echoed through the air, missing Brock by mere inches. Max screamed, as did Y/N. She jumped out from behind the door, screaming her son’s name, running past Steve and lunging for him. Steve launched himself at them, his arms going around Y/N just as hers wrapped around Max, the three of them tumbling to the ground, shots ringing through the air around them.

Steve yanked his gun free, rolling to his side, shielding Y/N and Max with his body as he fired at Brock, who had dived behind his car. Bucky was nowhere to be seen, putting Steve immediately on edge.

“Buck!” he yelled.

There was no answer.

“Call them off, Rogers,” Brock shouted.

“You know I can’t do that,” he answered. “You’re either walking out of here in cuffs or you’re not walking out of here alive. Your choice.”

Brock let loose with a primal scream, shoving himself away from the car, a gun in his hand, firing erratically as he rushed toward them. Steve raised his gun and fired, hitting Brock in the knee, dropping him to the ground. 

“You bastard,” Brock screamed. He dragged himself across the asphalt, his gun pointed at Max. Steve fired again, but there was nothing but a hollow click. He was out of ammo. He dropped his weapon wrapped Y/N and Max in his arms, and turned away from Brock, praying he wouldn’t hurt them. A second later he heard a loud grunt, followed by Bucky’s voice in his ear, telling the cops and agents to stand down and hold their fire.

Bucky was standing over Brock, who was unconscious, barely breathing, his gun in his hand. He pulled his handcuffs out of his back pocket and quickly cuffed Rumlow before hurrying to Steve’s side.

“You guys okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Steve murmured. “Thanks to you.”

Bucky helped Steve to his feet, followed by Y/N and Max. “Couldn’t let him shoot my best friend, now could I?” he chuckled.

“Agent Barnes!”

Bucky headed in the direction of the voice calling his name, while Steve took a moment to make sure his girlfriend and her son were okay, his eyes roaming over both of them. Once he’d given them both a thorough once over, he pulled Y/N into his arms and kissed her, hard.

“Steve?” she murmured when he finally released her, “what the hell is going on? Who are all of these people?” 

He hadn’t even noticed the ten to fifteen people that had gathered around them. FBI and NYPD intermingled - assessing the scene, hauling Brock to a waiting vehicle, jotting down notes about every little encounter. 

“Rogers!” Sam was hurrying their way, a grim look on his face. “What the hell are you doing? You need to get moving. Now.”

“Give me five minutes,” he mumbled, gesturing for Bucky to join them.

“Yeah?” Bucky asked.

“Can you occupy Max for a few minutes?” Steve inquired.

“Definitely,” Bucky nodded, taking Max’s hand in his. “C’mon, kid, I’ll let you sit in the cop car.”

“Rogers!” Sam repeated.

“Five minutes,” he called over his shoulder as he led her back to the truck, away from the crowds.

“You need to tell me what is going on right now, Steve,” she demanded.

“Promise me you won’t freak out,” he said.

“I not promising shit,” she snapped. “Start talking.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face and through his hair. “I’m a cop,” he blurted. “An undercover cop.”

“You’re a snitch?” she snarled. “I’ve been fucking a snitch for almost two years? Are you fucking kidding me?” She pulled away from him and took a step back, grimacing. Her eyes were darting around, looking for a way to escape. “Take me home. Now.”

“You can’t go home, Y/N,” Bucky interjected. “Not until this is over.”

“But my job, my kid -”

“Will both be taken care of,” Bucky reassured her. “For now, you’re gonna go with Detective Wilson. He’ll take good care of both you and Max.”

“What?” she muttered. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope,” Sam said, appearing at Steve’s side and taking Y/N’s arm. “You can come with me, ma’am.” He led her away, ushering her into the backseat of one of their nondescript vehicles, ignoring her protests.

Once she was safely enclosed in the car, Sam hurried back to Steve and Bucky, the bag of drugs in his hand. He tossed it to Steve, who caught it easily.

“You two get out of here, before the press descends,” Sam ordered. “We can keep who was arrested under wraps for a few hours, long enough for you two to get back to Tony.” He pulled a small box from his pocket and tossed that to Bucky.

“Earpieces?” he asked, staring at Sam with one eyebrow raised. “You know we can’t go in with these.”

“They’re practically invisible,” Sam said. “Even if Happy swept you, he wouldn’t find them. Some kind of new tech that guy Banner developed. Of course, they’re untested, but the higher-ups are tired of waiting for you to make a move. You get in there with those and get your uncle to spill his guts. It’s time to end this.” He spun on his heel and stalked off, giving them no chance to argue.

Bucky pulled out one of the earpieces and tucked in place, then he passed the box to Steve.

“You okay?” he asked.

“He’s right, Buck,” Steve said, pushing tech into his ear. “It’s time to end this. It’s over. Uncle Tony is finished.” He yanked open the door to the truck and threw the bag in the back. “Let’s go.”

Bucky knew better than to argue with Steve when he made up his mind to finish something. Everything would come to a head and end, today, good or bad. He climbed in the SUV beside his best friend.

“Let’s go,” he said.


End file.
